Saviors of Tomorrow
by SPICYWolfSauce
Summary: Len Kagamine was a young boy when he and his brother were brought to Camp 47 to be tested on. Two years later, he escapes. This is his story of survival, death, and reconcile.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

January 17th, 2008.

To whomever might find this letter,

I am writing this as I run from an uncertain future, blood spattered walls, a personal hell. Two years ago my brother and I were taken from the comfort of our home and were shipped off to an old abandoned prison, remolded into a rehabilitation camp, to be tested on. My assigned drug was metformin, and as for my brother, that I am not aware. Constantly we were injected with the same drug, worsening the unlikely side effects that followed them: irregular heartbeat, random fits of shivers, aching muscles, trouble breathing. "These effects won't last," our "caretakers" so boldly reassured; what lies flew from their mouths! My scars from that camp I carry as I run. Miles away from civilization I run with a girl next to me. We escape looking for a sliver of hope, trying to rekindle the luminosity in our lives we once had until they were so easily severed apart. Maybe you'll find us barely alive with this little note filled with hope and help us. Maybe you'll leave us, believing that what those people did to us was right. No matter who you are, I want you to know our story and never forget what evil humans possess in their hearts. My name is Len Kagamine, age eleven. Birth date: December 27th, 1997. Gender: male. Blood type: O+. Height: 4'10. Weight: 79 lbs. Physical appearance: short, now long, blonde hair pulled back into a rushed ponytail, dull, once a shining, clear blue eye color, cloaked in a black trench coat which is much too large for my short, stalky and frail body, various scars that adorn me and the blood oozing from the many places on my body. Dearest stranger, if you have taken those precious seconds out of your life to read my letter written with my fleeting minutes, thank you. If you mistook this pathetic letter written by an equally pathetic being for a piece of garbage, thank you. For that's all that my, even our, lives will become. It's not like we did anything important, nor history changing. This letter will soon be forgotten, and so will we.

Nobody

1997 - ?

* * *

Well, my first fanfic! :3 I'm quite proud of it, even though it's just the prologue. I don't have much to say...Except thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I will try very hard to update once a month, but if I can't, forgive me! I'm a busy person, believe it or not. . See you in chapter 1: Hell's Dawning!

~ Spicy


	2. Hell's Dawning

The date was June 16th, 2006, a casual Friday. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Or so I had thought. I remember my parents had filled out papers and talked on the phone; of course I took no mind to this, for I was just a nine-year-old boy. All I really cared about was getting to soccer practice on time. That June 16th was a clear, serene one with a 30% chance of rain, and my brother and I were at home, celebrating the soccer game my team and I had just won. My parents seemed to have been avoiding us that day; I was to never know why until everything was gone. My little brother, Tsuyo, who was four at the time, grabbed my beloved purple music box and dropped it onto my lap, a bright smile danced on his face the entire time.

"Play it, play it!" he begged. I mimed his joyous smile and wound up the music box. The tune to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" filled our small, cozy living room. Tsuyo clapped his hands in pure glee. He really did love that music box. I did, too. I really did. My grandmother had given me the music box when I was five-years-old. She always told me she bought it, but I knew different. That old woman as a tinker. I knew she made it for me. Before I had received it, I heard her brag about her "masterpiece" to my parents in the kitchen. My grandma was sure proud of that little singing box. I wish I would have taken better care of it…

"Somewhere over the rainbow…"

* * *

My parents were in their kitchen while my brother and I sat on the soft, plush couch in the living room. I remembered I had heard a quiet choking noise as our front door was hastily thrown open, the hinges creaked loudly as two men clad in black stepped in. Tsuyo clung onto my left arm, his eyes wide in fear, as the men marched over to us. The larger, and obviously stronger man pulled me up by the arm unoccupied by my brother and quickly forced me onto my feet, which caused my precious music box to the floor. It ceased playing at once, as if it knew what had been happening to us and stopped to listen.

"Oh, what's this?" the other man asked and picked up the hopeless box. My eyes widened, my head shook from side to side rapidly. "So it had sentimental value to you? Then it must be destroyed." He dropped it on the floor and crushed it under his foot, its springs, gears and coils sent away. Hot tears left my eyes and stung my cheeks, which had grown cold and ghost pale.

"Let's go, boys." the man who held my arm hoisted me up and slung me over his shoulder, the other man pried my brother off of me. Too scared to dare speak, I shot a terrified glance toward my parents, who stood there in the kitchen, smiles painted on their faces, almost like dolls. "Make us proud, Len! Tsuyo!" Mother had said. Proud? PROUD? How could we ever do such a thing, as we're being carried off to a certain death? Is being mercilessly abducted by strange men something to be proud of? I knew they wouldn't see me, yet I glared anyway. "I hate you!" I pitifully shrieked. "I hate you…"

On that June 16th, I learned never to trust anyone, no matter what they might say. Even if those words might be 'I love you'.

* * *

I couldn't see the color of the vehicles my brother and I were being shoved into, nor what type. That, I will never know. Be it a van, truck, car; I no longer cared. I was devoid of emotions at this point. I never really did care until two months in that hell. All I could tell was that the windows were tinted, and the back and front seats were separated by a large plank of wood painted black, so that the victim couldn't inflict harm on or even see who would've possibly been in the front two seats. Still, it's not like I cared. I felt the vehicle begin to move swiftly across our dirt and gravel driveway. The men didn't dare try to communicate with me. It's not like I wanted them to. Didn't care. I glanced out of one of the sable windows and saw the town. My town. Old-fashioned, run-down, shabby. It had a name, I think. It didn't deserve one. In that mobile death machine, I wondered why someone had built this town, in the middle of nowhere, nonetheless. No, it wasn't the middle of nowhere. My town had been strategically placed about thirty miles from the bottom of a mountain, protected by a thick shell of trees. I liked that. I had always known we'd be safe in that shell of trees. My town was like a turtle. The trees our shell. Once we left the borders and my safe haven, I heard the man in the front seat turn on the heat. Heat? It was the middle of June! I banged on the plank of wood with my fist. "Hey! Turn it down!" I received no answer. Even though I wouldn't, again, get an answer, I looked around and asked, "Where are the seat belts?"

The man angrily hit the wood in return. "Shut up, maggot!" my brain couldn't process what I had heard. I don't think it even wanted to. That hurt. It was just the beginning of the insults used against me in a time span of two years. I tucked the thought deep into the back of my mind, and, by some miracle, drifted off into a restless mid-afternoon sleep.

When I opened my sore, more than likely blood-shot eyes, the vehicle slowly pulled into an empty lot. Without a word, the man in the driver's seat climbed out and made his way over to my door, which he then opened. I knew if I didn't cooperate with the guards, I'd probably be stabbed. Or shot. Or killed. So, I got up and, reluctantly, followed. Without getting very far, I stopped to stare at what I knew was to be my certain, and near, future, the sign to the camp, "Saviors of Tomorrow: Excelling in Medical Advances and Making the World a Better Place, One Vaccine at a Time". They brought us here to test on us?! I could feel my blood boil at this. Now the men were impatient with me. How could I tell? The man who was in the front seat turned around and snapped at me, "Hurry up, you little-"

"I have a name, you know." I quickly interrupted.

He looked me dead in the eye. "We have no names in Hell."

* * *

Heeeeere's chapter 1! :D I'm uber proud of it, and I'm glad I'm done with it. ^^; Sorry I didn't get it posted faster; school is close to being done, after all. That means testing and whatnot. Sigh. Oh well~ I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you in chapter 2: Of Tattoos and Constant Suffering, I Scream.

-Spicy


	3. Of Tattoos and Constant Sufferings

"We have no names in Hell." No, we were just reduced to numbers. No face, no name, no life. Just a number. Those numbers will stay there for the rest of our lives, on our hands, faces, arms, wrists, sides. A branding that marks the death of a man, and marks the reincarnation of a man into a number. These numbers were organized. 1,2,3…In order of who suffered. 4,5,6…In order of how fatal the drugs were. 7,8,9…In order of how many bodies were shipped away. 98, 99, infinity…In order of how many days they had left. 0. Not a chance.

* * *

Dragging my feet, I reluctantly hobbled after the guards. Not a choice, I had to. Once we walked into the prison, I was hit with a quick and harsh blast of cold air that sent my hair flying back. Screams filled my ears, a metallic, gut-wrenching medley. My spine tingled in harmony with the pitiful shrieks, almost like a song. One where dripping blood kept the beat, where clattering syringes hitting the ground were the various instruments, where screams and quiet mutterings of insanity were the throng of loud voices. My throat tightened; I was soon to join the death choir. I was lead through crowds of pathetic children, and pushed into the back of a line. All of those children were like me: crying, frightened, fearing what was to become of them here. I wanted to cry, to scream with these angels. But I couldn't. Nothing audible would come out, only a soft choke would dare to escape my lips. That's all. I glanced at the guards behind me, but they gave me a scowl and briskly walked away. Something pushed against my back, and I was just about to turn around and blow up in their face. My eyes widened as I noticed who it was. "T-Tsuyo…?" I managed to utter. He couldn't respond, only sobbing was heard. I wanted to hold him, but I couldn't. I would only hurt him. After all, that's the only thing I could do when I touched something. Hurt. Destruction. Internecine. How ironic, for a boy who wanted to be a doctor, all he could do was hurt! Arms trembling, I forced them down to my side as I turned away, refusing to look at him. First of the countless life-changing mistakes I made in the prison. Oops. This caused him to cry even harder. I winced. I hated to hear people cry, especially my baby brother. I'm sorry, Tsuyo. I wish I could make it up to you. But you're dead now. From what I remember, the line I stood in went quickly. As crying children with red skin exited, I started to get worried. Then again, I was always like that in the prison. I didn't want to die, after all. I was lead into a dark, damp room by the same men who had brought me here. They told me to sit on what appeared to be a dentist's chair; I obeyed. A different man, who looked like a dentist, fired up a little machine next to me. "Please remove your shirt." he sounded indifferent; I obeyed. The man picked up a fairly large pen and dabbed it in black ink. "Please hold still. This'll be over with before you know it." Understatement of the day; I obeyed. Without an ounce of care, he began to tattoo my number on my side. I didn't know what was going on, I was only nine. I didn't know what tattooing was. A scream threatened to let itself out of my throat, but I held it back. Halfway through the process, about thirty minutes, the man looked at me with his gray, indifferent eyes. "Go ahead and scream." he tempted; I obeyed. I wasn't to hear a sound like that from myself ever again, that was the final time I would almost even talk for two years. After what felt like days, which was only an hour, he removed the pen from my side. I looked down at my number: 5390. The 5390th person to pass through this room, this man. My hand trailed down to touch the raw, burning skin that bore the tattoo, only he slapped my hand and I jerked it back. "Don't touch that, you brat!" he hissed; I obeyed. I was quickly escorted out of pain room number one, and was lead down a winding corridor, far from the lobby, and brought into a barrack that appeared to be untouched by man. The bigger guard shoved me into the room and threw a prisoner's outfit at me. "Enjoy your stay. Your medication will be here soon." they left without another word. I scoped the room out; four beds, four small tables, a desk and chair, a window. A window! I felt so fortunate, almost greedy. This was only my window, no one else's! At least I got to 'own' something. Just a window. For myself, I pulled out the chair from underneath the desk, sat on it, and just stared out of my window. The woods, densely populated, surrounded this prison like a shield, a barricade. It didn't take long for my medicine to arrive. A guard which I didn't recognize placed a metal tray with a single syringe on the table closest to him. By the way I must've been staring, he picked up the syringe and marched over to me. "So, boy," he used the word 'boy' quite venomously. "Do you want me to do this for you, or are you a big boy and can handle it yourself?" a twisted smile manifested on his ugly face. From this expression, I couldn't respond. "I'll take that as you can't!" he plunged the needle into my arm and injected the fluid into my arm. It hurt. It stung like lapping flames caressing dead wood in a fire, only without the snapping. My arm trembled as I could feel my heart rate rise, going as fast as the fluid travelled through my arm. And all I could do was stare. That's all that I could do anymore. Stare. Hurt and stare. I sat down and let the fluid course through my veins, spreading to different places throughout my body. My legs, feet, head, heart. The pain seared as I tried to rest my arm on the pillow placed upon my bed. I felt a multitude of hot tears stream down my face. If I were a fire, I'd be sizzling each time one of those tears came into contact with my skin. Only I wasn't a fire. I was a human being. Fires and humans have a lot in common, though. We keep are body temperatures hot enough to survive, we need oxygen to live. Fire spreads as quickly as juicy rumors do in a community. We can easily die when doused in water. At that time, I did feel like a fire. A fire on the brink of being extinguished. I didn't notice the intercom in my room. I sure as heck knew of it when I heard a message come across it. "It's nappy time, worthless maggots! Get yer beauty sleep while ya can. You're gonna need it when you wake up." Sleep? How could I sleep after all of this? The only answer was that I couldn't. Fires don't sleep. And neither do I. In protest to this message, I did lie down on my bed and closed my eyes. I thought. I thought about mom and dad, how they were never going to see their precious boys ever again. I thought about grandma, and her music box that she worked so hard to make, only to have it be neglected. I wondered where it's whereabouts were. Did mom briskly clean them up and throw them away, just like that? Or did dad gather all of the pieces and attempt to fix it, to make his mother proud? Proud. What does proud mean, anyway? I don't think I knew anymore. I don't think I knew anything anymore, only pain. Pain and medications. Love had left my heart a while ago, and had been slowly replaced by medicine. Medicine that would end my life at a young age. I tried to guess how many years it would take for me to die. Three years? Ten years? Or would I end up dying at an old age, in immense pain? Probably the latter. Oh well. I stopped caring. Like I've said multiple times before, I didn't care. Eventually, against my will, I drifted into a light sleep, lulled by the soft screams of others suffering. Like me.

* * *

Jeez. =w= I'm exausted...Well, here you go! Chapter two~ It's longer than the last one, and I honestly think that more events occur in this chapter. Correct me if I'm wrong. ^^; I worked hard to bring this to you, and I hope you enjoyed! See you in chapter three, Dancing With the Devil, Stepping on his Toes!


End file.
